Charlie and Gracie
by Catheryne
Summary: Dan finds his new Muses. Chuck/Blair, Dan/Blair
1. Chapter 1

Charlie and Gracie

AN: Dan Humphrey may not be one of my fave characters on the show but his efforts amused me on this week's ep. I am still unsure of how deeply the story will develop. I have full intention of exploring Dan and Blair romantically, but I'm not sure if my inner Chuck/Blair will succeed in the end. Let's see.

Spoilers: Allusions to 2.05. Nothing concrete.

Summary: Dan finds new writing Muses. (Chuck/Blair, Dan/Blair)

Before his mentor spiraled downwards into his own world, dragged willingly into an abyss of drugs and liquor, he shared a juicy secret—one that anyone in their community knew and accepted as basic truth. Writers were devastated creatures, torn and shredded inside, unkempt and blasé outside. And for years, as he struggled to find his voice, Dan Humphrey strove towards that goal—cynicism in his voice injected, a smirk plastered on to say that he was better, judgment branded on his forehead.

These beautiful people that he saw daily in a school that his father could barely afford… They were not him, they would never understand him. Dan Humphrey was one of a kind, the only solid reality in a fantasy of money and privilege.

They were characters in a novel, all of them. He was the boy who would tell the story. And as the boy, he would latch on to an anchor. Luckily enough, it was easy to set his eyes on a heroine.

Serena van der Woodsen was a golden princess. She was popular, stunning, effortless. He had held her in his arms once upon a time, his golden chalice. Like all epic loves, he lost her. Dan sat back once and likened his first relationship with so many grand ones that he had read before—Helen and Paris, Orpheus and Euridyce, Cupid and Persephone, Desdemona and Othello, Romeo and Juliet. He walked into school with his head held high. All those stories ended in tragedy. As a modern writer, Dan Humphrey would carry the tragedy in his heart and trudge through.

He walked past Serena and her girlfriends sitting on the steps. He noticed the way their voices dropped considerably the moment he passed by. He had been honing his writer's eye and ear for some time now. He was trained to notice his surroundings. Serena was perfection, up on a pedestal, her long smooth legs bare and stretched out, attracting the attention of every St Jude's boy who turned up for school. One of his classmates tripped on the way in, so enraptured he had been at the sight of Dan's ex-girlfriend. Dan shook his head, grateful that he had risen past the childishness, even the utter normality, of being under Serena van der Woodsen's spell.

Since it was still rather early to go to class, Dan Humphrey settled on one of the stone tables in the yard. He whipped out his notebook. He looked up at the blonde and back down at the blank paper.

"Sunlight," he murmured, and scribbled. "Perfection. Glorious."

It was a strategy that he had learned to employ. It hadn't yet proven effective, but he thought he would try it out. Later on, when he had established distance from the moment and from the muse, he would create the story based on these random words he associated with her.

He shook his head in amusement at the final list that he came up with. It was a set of twenty words, and they were all too trite. "Guess you can't wax poetic on something sublime."

"Oh please!" came a feminine voice from behind him.

He turned his head and saw Blair Waldorf grimacing at him. Dan scrambled to his feet and stammered, "Blair! This… this didn't mean anything. I was finishing an assignment."

She rolled her eyes, bringing Dan's attention to their darkness. "It's not like I can what you're doing, Humphrey. I normally wouldn't react, but you're stinking the place up with pathetic."

He was taken aback, mostly because when he met her eyes, there was no malice apparent despite her voice oozing with it. Serena had always been transparent. Nate Archibald, from Dan's brief interaction with him, proved to radiate gloom. And Chuck Bass, Dan's favorite subject of all time, practically combusted in those special moments. Blair Waldorf was a blank slate overall. "Well thank you for the commentary, Blair. I'm not sure how it's helpful though."

Instead of answering him, Blair's gaze went from his head to his toes, then turned and walked into Constance. Dan released the breath that he had been holding. He turned back to the table and to his notes, only to find it missing. He looked up and found himself sitting right across from Chuck Bass. "Chuck, I was looking for you. Look, man, I'm sorry. I would never—"

Chuck held up a hand to silence him, and Dan found himself effectively silenced without any physical force. After skimming through the notebook, Chuck tossed it away in disgust. "I can whip out a better product that you can in one sitting if I wanted to."

Dan shrugged away the insult. "I didn't write it."

"I know," Chuck informed him softly. "Whatever anyone else thinks of my talents, I never question them myself."

"Alright," Dan allowed.

"Talking to Blair Waldorf, I see," Chuck began. At Dan's slow nod, Chuck leaned forward on the table. Dan copied the movement. "If I see you print anything—Wait, what am I thinking, you wouldn't ever get published." He revised, "If I find out you're even writing anything about Claire Astor or whatever the hell kind of name you'll use to disguise her, you're going to find yourself in a worse situation than drugged and shoeless on the streets."

Dan shook his head. "I have no intention of doing that."

"What makes you think I'll believe you? Just watch your back, Humphrey. Not that it will matter anyway."

Dan watched Chuck vanish into the school building. He reached for his notebook. He looked up at the large windows of Constance and saw the figure. Dan squinted against the sun and saw her standing there, silent, her face blank as she looked down at the steps where her friends sat laughing together. Blair Waldorf folded her arms across her chest. Subconsciously, he turned the page over and lifted his pen.

'Her dark eyes were drowning; her throat closed. The water closed above her and she kicked her feet in the bottomless pool,' he wrote down. And then his pen flew across the page, over and over and over. 'One day, she would sink, and no one would be the wiser for it.'

He paused, then looked up again. He sucked in his breath when he found her staring straight into his eyes. 'Grace, they called her. Gracie, that's how he knew the neighbor girl.' Dan blinked, but she did not waver. 'Grace tumbled down from roof of her home one afternoon as she reached for a fruit from his grandfather's tree. He had been trimming the grass when he found her, hair mussed, dry cuts of grass stuck to her pale skin, reaching her hand up and demanding that he help her. "Gracie," he had warned, "you better go back to your house before anyone finds out you're over the fence." And Grace had grinned and said, "Later. Give me some lemonade first."' Dan broke into a smile as he looked down at the rough paragraph.

Excited at the prospect of writing out the plot slowly forming in his head, Dan looked up again and saw the window empty. Disappointed, he stood up and entered the school.

It was time to take charge of his writing, of his life experiences. Waiting around was not the answer. He took his phone out of his pocket and texted, 'Any plans for tonight?'

After one second, his phone beeped. 'Humphrey. Ur texting me.' Dan grinned at the response. Without any tone or voice, Blair Waldorf still sounded like Blair Waldorf.

He texted back, 'I'll take that as a no. meet u at the gate at 4.'

'k.'

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

Let me do a quick count. Based on reviews for the first part, there are 2 vocally for Chuck/Blair and 2 for Dan/Blair. A tie.. Hmmm.

Part 2

Dan did not realize how intimidated he was of his newfound Muse until he saw her march down the steps towards him. She made him think of an Amazon princess really, which was odd since Serena never gave him that vibe. But Serena always floated down those steps to him, or she flew right down and launched herself into his arms. Blair Waldorf though, strode regally and as confidently as any member of royalty. Maybe that was why he never thought it odd that she could have been duchess to Marcus Beaton—before he upped and screwed Nate's May-December affair partner.

'He met Gracie once as she sat pouring through the classifieds,' his brain teased. Dan fisted his hand to fight the itch to reach for a pen and write down the sentence.

Blair stopped two steps above him, and Dan had no doubt it was calculated beforehand so that he would be forced to look up, just a little, and she could stare down at him and keep the distance. "What do you want?" she demanded.

'"What do you want?"' he heard his character say in his brain as well.

Dan leaned forward, intrigued. Here was his Grace, and she was doing and saying everything to such accuracy that he doubted he even needed to distort reality enough to seem like real art. The way Blair looked down at him, Dan wondered if she looked at Chuck the same way when she was pissed off.

'Gracie crossed legs under her as she sat on the shag carpet that probably cost more than his tuition.' Dan stifled a smile. In the presence of Blair Waldorf, a story was being written for him, and he did not even need to wrack his brain. '"Are you looking for a job, Gracie?" She rolled her eyes and raised her eyebrows, as if the silent words made a difference to his comprehension. Silly enough, they did. It was almost as if they had some sort of connection, and they were the only ones who could understand the language. "Anything wrong with that?" was her challenge. He shook his head. "It's just that you don't need a job." He looked around her surroundings, from the plush bedspread and the gleaming hardwood furniture. Grace shrugged. "Maybe this is how I keep my life interesting," she answered.'

"Hello, earth to Humphrey!" Blair snapped her fingers in front of his face. "This is time I'll never get back. So spill."

He may not have wanted to anger her, but with this attitude, he wondered. Dan just had to ask, "If you're in such a hurry, why did you bother showing up?"

Her lips curved, and Dan's attention turned to the gleaming fullness. Grace would have lips like those. It would be a sin to use thinner, less shiny ones. A bit embarrassed, but knowing he had to do it for his sanity, to keep the ball rolling later tonight when he's alone in front of his computer, Dan took his phone out and smiled sheepishly at Blair. He aimed the lens at her. "May I?"

And Dan knew, by the way she stifled a smile, that she had been disarmed. "Knock yourself out," she said by way of agreement. He snapped the photograph, then checked it. He zoomed to her lips and was satisfied. "I showed up because I thought you wanted to tell me something about Serena?"

Dan shook his head. "No. I wanted to see if you'd like to hang out."

Blair's expression did not change. She stared back at him with the same blankness she had used when she asked about her purpose. When he had told her what she needed, Blair cleared her throat and hooked her bag tighter to her side. "That is insulting."

She stormed part him and out the gates. Dan Humphrey whirled around, then jogged after her. For a short girl, she sure did walk fast. "Wha—Wait—What?" He called out, "Wait, Blair! Your friends are with Serena, what other plans do you have tonight?"

She stopped. For about ten seconds, there was no movement. Dan held his breath. And then slowly, with no perceptible effort on her part, she was turning to face him. "You have some nerve, Humphrey." She showed him the eyes that he was now familiar with, those cold ones that seemed like she wanted to freeze him with one look.

"Hey, Blair, I'm sorry, okay?" he pleaded. "I didn't mean it like that."

But she did not stop walking away. He was about to make one more effort, but the image of Blair Waldorf rushing to the opposite direction, stepping over the littered red leaves on the ground, was enough to make him reach for his notepad and start scribbling. 'It was a cold fall day when Gracie left me, driving away in a shiny new car through the dirt roads, leaving behind a trail of dust that climbed up my nostrils and filled my lungs with the knowledge that she had abandoned me—for college, for a real life, for a new man. Gracie set herself a blazing path towards a future I could never afford.'

"What are you doing, Humphrey?"

Dan sighed. No one could mistake the cool, always threatening voice of Chuck Bass. He turned around slowly to face him. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

Chuck's eyes flickered to the notebook in Dan's hand, then back up to look him in the eye. "I'm disappointed in you. I thought you liked your life."

Dan clenched his jaw. "What I choose to write isn't any of your business."

"It is when you're writing about my life."

"This isn't about Charlie Trout," Dan spat out. "I told you I wouldn't be writing about your secret." When Chuck looked unconvinced, Dan raised the notebook and showed him his scribbled sentences about Gracie. "This is about a girl, not about you."

Chuck reached for the notebook despite Dan's protests. He flipped the page, and read, "In his dreams she was a princess. His eternal puzzle was why Gracie had such sad eyes for a princess. When he watched her from afar, reading her books, his gaze focused on her fingers. When she turned the page, he looked. Gracie had such sad fingers." Chuck stopped, then snarled, "This is my business."

"What?" Dan exclaimed, not understanding how Chuck could relate the description to himself.

"I told you not to write about Blair." Without looking away from Dan, Chuck ripped out the pages of notes that Dan had collected over the day. Dan watched in horror as Chuck tore the paper to shreds, then let them fall to the ground. He wanted to cry, but that wasn't something men did. Dan watched in horror as Chuck stepped over the torn paper, past him, then to his limo. The vehicle drove away.

"Welcome back, Charlie Trout," he whispered as the vehicle vanished when it turned the curb. He typed into his phone, 'interested in a serialized novella?'

'This is a gossip blog. What's the catch? If there's none, take it elsewhere.'

'Oh u'l love this. I'l give u the scoop as close to the circle as u can get.'

'Show me the first part. Let's test it out how many hits u'l get.'

'I'l email u tonyt. It's called Charlie and Gracie. U'l love it.'

"If Charlie Trout wants to play, then we'll play," he whispered. One more thing he learned from his mentor, which Dan had never felt was necessary before, was that a good writer was ruthless. He found Blair's number and called, "Blair, look, I'm really sorry I was an asshole today. I want to make it up to you." A pause. "Really? Well, I just happen to have the newest Yale reviewer, freshly delivered by courier from my cousin. And maybe we can look through some essay ideas? I could really use your help." He smiled. "Sounds perfect. I'll see you then."

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

Part 3

Dan glared at his computer screen. The stark white empty space blinked back at him. He needed something to start the ball rolling. His notes would have done the trick, but Chuck Bass had ripped them to shreds earlier. Try as he could, Dan could not whip the words out of thin air. He had never understood his process—if he even had one—and so he could not harness his creative power whenever he wanted.

Maybe he should have picked up the bits of paper and taped them together later on.

"Spilled milk," he muttered, telling himself that what was done was done.

He glanced up at the clock and stood up. Blair would arrive in about half an hour, and he still needed to take a bath and change into something that she could not insult. He thought of raiding his father's closet, but decided against it. He wanted her pleased enough with his appearance that she wouldn't turn her nose up and stalk off, not rolled up into a ball on the floor laughing her ass off. Of their own volition, his lips curved. That would have been a fun image.

Dan picked up the sheet of paper that contained his character profile information. The entire night would be an exercise, and he hoped at the end of it, the sheet would be full. As it was, there were very few items there—only child, A student, divorced parents who spoiled her as hell. He wondered about that last part, since he hadn't witnessed Blair interacting with her parents. He lifted his pen, hesitated, then scratched out the last item. For the profile sheet, he had to stick to hard facts. Unless Blair Waldorf starts waxing on tonight about gifts she could get from her father with a pout and the bat of her eyelashes, that specific assumption would not get anywhere near the story.

He placed the sheet carefully inside his Geometry book. He had learned his lesson with Chuck Bass, after all. His little misstep caused him the beginnings of a wonderful coming of age story. He shook his head as he stripped his clothes and stepped under the shower. It would have been epic, he thought—a story about his neighbor girl Gracie and his unrequited crush. He scrubbed the soap on his body, then let the water wash it away.

Dan thought back to his story idea and rolled his eyes. Purely fiction and mainly drivel. Chuck was right to trash the story.

Good fiction is art distorting reality.

The sound of the doorbell pierced through the noise of the water running. Dan grabbed the towel and wrapped it around himself, rushing out of the bathroom. He looked at the clock and saw how early it was yet. "Should've known Blair Waldorf arrives early!" he cried out. That was going into the profile sheet. The bell rang again, and he could tell she was getting impatient. Dan looked towards the doorway, then to the clothes on the bed. The bell rang. "Screw it," he muttered. He wasn't going to lose his train of thought. Hair dripping dark circles on the table, Dan grabbed the nearest piece of paper he could find.

'Shrill.

Repetitive.

Alarming.

She came into his life like an impatient visitor, no thought wasted on whether she was intruding. Gracie never intruded on anything. She was, like no one else, a welcome presence anywhere she went. Expected or not, Gracie—'

And then his phone was ringing. Dan looked down at the caller ID in disbelief. He then raised the phone to his wet ear. "Hello?"

"Are you going to let me in, or should I get a cab to drive me back home?"

"Give me two minutes. I'm not ready."

He heard her huff from the other line. "What are you, a princess? Let me in, Humphrey. I'm soaked and horrendous." And it was only then that he realized that it was raining outside. Stuck in his own fictional city, Dan always seemed to miss the outside world. "Cabs never let you off at the exact spot." He heard a sneeze, and Dan hurried to the door.

He opened the door to reveal that Blair Waldorf had lied. She was a little worse for wear, with her dress possibly a little moist but it was obvious she had not stayed under the rain. The horrible cab experience was likely the fact that she had two seconds of rainfall between getting off the cab and hopping over to the roofed sidewalk.

She had lied. Soaked and horrendous?

It wasn't often that Dan Humphrey saw Blair Waldorf, and most of those times she was with Serena and his attention was always on the blonde in his arms and kisses he was being given. Despite the few occasions he had seen her, Dan could appreciate that Blair was a lovely girl. Right now, with her standing in his humble abode, with her hair pulled into a loose ponytail over her right shoulder, a droopy silk rosette holding it in place, and her eyelashes shiny with water, she looked like an out of place princess.

"Roman Holiday!" he exclaimed. She raised her eyebrows. Dan felt the need to expound, "I was thinking how you looked so out of place, like a princess in this—"

An arched eyebrow. "It's not a dump, Humphrey."

That made him laugh. "I wasn't going to use the word dump."

"You were searching for a more tactful word to use," she said, waving his excuse off. "I didn't want you to think too hard."

Dan grinned. "Why?"

Blair smiled back, then looked at him from head to toe. "Because it might take too long. Aren't you cold?"

Dan's eyes widened and he looked down at himself, reminded suddenly that he was wet, with rivulets of water streaking down his naked torso, and that he was wearing nothing but a towel around his hips. "I'll be right back." He went running towards his room.

When he came out, he saw her sitting at his kitchen table, leafing through the Yale reviewer that he had managed to get from a friend. She was twirling a curly lock of hair around her finger, and pieces of the last failed story came back to him. Her sad fingers as she turned pages—that seemed to tip Chuck off. He watched her for a moment as she read like the determined applicant that she was, all the while twirling her hair like the teenage queen that she also was. Moments like these—when she was oblivious to the world around her—were the moments that he needed to capture. These were the times when he got to meet Gracie.

He cleared his throat to get her attention. She looked up. "I have a name."

But he didn't really want to use it too much, just so he could get into the groove of writing her. "I know," he responded neutrally. "I see you found the reviewer."

Blair nodded, then placed it down. "I've done that practice test thrice since I got it last month," she informed him. "I aced every time."

"Oh. I see."

"But I do need to have another pair of eyes looking through my essays."

"I can do that," he answered. "And I absolutely need you to look over mine."

"Great!" Blair took her notebook from her bag, then uncapped her pen. "I have some essay topics here. Let's start with something trite. That's always the hardest. 'Describe a time when you proved the quotation—Behind every cloud, there's always a silver lining.'" Dan nodded. Before he could start writing, Blair closed her hand over his. He looked up at the dark, worried eyes. "No one can know," she whispered.

Dan's eyes went to her lips, still full and red with her gloss. "Know what?" he prodded. Why did his voice suddenly turn throaty?

"This."

"This?"

Blair took her hand away, and his skin suddenly felt cold. He should have turned his palm upwards and lace his fingers through hers when he had the chance. "No one can know we're studying together. I came here to avoid my mom's new boyfriend and his son. She wanted to have a family dinner." She made a face of disgust.

Dan recognized the glare as a front. "You don't like him?"

Blair shrugged. "He's nice enough. Son's a weird artsy guy who's had a crush on me since forever."

"If he's nice—"

Blair cut him off. "It can't be a family dinner when dad's in France."

Dan almost closed his eyes in ecstasy at the statement. She was a story writer's fantasy come to life, a fountain of material, this one. He could just imagine the story unfolding before his very eyes. "Behind every cloud…" he trailed off.

Blair nodded, then started writing.

Dan set out to write his own essay when he heard the ringing. It was an unfamiliar sound, and he supposed that it was Blair's. She glanced at the caller ID, then turned the phone to silent. Dan thought it was her mother. He squinted to see who it was from the real world who was now interrupting his story research. The name that sounded like a curse word flashed on the LCD.

Charlie Trout, he thought. Well, he was bound to appear sooner or later in a story that revolved around Gracie.

"You're not gonna answer that?" he inquired levelly.

"Is it distracting you?"

Dan nodded. "A little."

Blair shook her head.

"You sure?"

She pushed the phone towards him. "You answer it."

Dan itched to reach for the phone. However, he knew that this was a test for the writer. A good writer does not inject himself into the story. "No one can know, right?" he reminded her.

Blair lifted the phone to her ear. "What do you want, Chuck?"

If he could only paint, he would paint the way her face transformed as she spoke on the phone. Her words were simple, curt; her voice was cold, unwelcoming. Her face, though. Her face spoke volumes of the person she was listening to.

He moved away to give her privacy, then started writing.

'She was putty in his hands, so malleable and so easily controlled. He watched from a distance as Gracie stepped back into that world.'

When she hung up the phone, she called to him, "Is it okay if we take a raincheck?" He looked up at her and saw her eyes, and they were still as sad and brown as they were when he saw her at the window and she became his Muse.

Dan forced a smile. He had a long night ahead to write. This was only the beginning—only Gracie.

"Is Chuck picking you up?"

"No," she answered. "I'm just—suddenly so exhausted."

The phone call didn't end well, he supposed. As miserable as Blair looked right now, he couldn't blame Chuck. Charlie Trout's secrets couldn't possibly make a pleasant bedfellow.

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

Part 4

'Gracie vanished into the night mist like a departing phantom, like an old man's dream unfulfilled towards the end of his life. '

Dan wondered, as he slid into the dark booth at the corner, whether or not he should take out his laptop and start working here. It would be faster that way. He thought twice about it before vetoing the idea. The light from the screen would catch Chuck's attention and he was bound to investigate. This was not the best idea that Dan had had. Stalking Chuck in his preferred haunt was just going to piss him off more than he already was, but Dan had to get his ideas and he had to confront his Muse head on.

'She had thrummed with energy the entire night, a faerie princess who could spin fantastical webs of color and light. Gracie's descent into a gray world like his own was a gift in itself, and watching her get sucked back into that reality with one call was like watching the princess fall.

"You know you don't need to react at every little thing he does," he told her as she was about to step outside.

Gracie looked back at him with sad eyes, her dark lashes casting deep shadows, on her cheeks. "You don't know anything about me."

"I know why you're leaving, and I know he's not worth the time."

She narrowed her eyes at him, as if he was a target. "Just because I've agreed to work with you, doesn't mean you can assume anything about my life."

The door closed firmly behind her, and he clenched his jaw. He reached for the knob and opened the door, then hurried after her.

"Gracie!" he called out as he jogged after her.

She stopped in her tracks but didn't turn around. Gracie reached up briefly to her cheeks, and even without her turning to face him, he knew she was brushing tears away. "Just let go. Email me your essay and I'll give you my notes tomorrow."

He walked forward and stopped beside her, then placed his palm on the small of her back. He raised a hand to hail a cab. "I'll take you home. It's not safe out here alone at night."

They sat at the back of the cab in silence, with her on one end and him the other. Gracie spent the entire travel time looking out the window. He knew, because he spent the time watching her.'

After Blair had disconnected her call, sullen and shuttered the way she usually was, Dan could not extract any more juicy tidbits from her. He had hoped to find out more before she got off the taxi. To his dismay, she shared nothing. But the plot had become more interesting already, and he had to work on the other end of that story to give the event more perspective. And so instead of going home, he made a pit stop.

'Charlie sat at his favorite table, right at the center of the bar, where people passed by him a few dozen times through the night with not so much as a word. He adored the utter isolation, this loneliness amidst the crowd. He threw back his scotch and his face remained passive, expressionless, as if the liquid didn't burn its way down his throat.

The redhead that sauntered towards Charlie Trout had the seductive smile of a practiced temptress. Charlie returned the curve of her fire engine red lips with a smirk all his own. Charlie smirked as if he owned the whole city, and the young woman encouraged it. With Charlie Trout, that illusion of grandeur was not so much illusion as fact. He lowered his gaze to the sway of the hips hugged by the black dress.

"Sofia," Charlie said in recognition of the new arrival.

"Charlie," purred the woman. She slid into the seat beside Charlie Trout and leaned over to whisper into his ear.'

Dan strained to hear the sweet nothings, but he had been too far away to listen in and those red lips were too close to the shell of Chuck's ear that he could not even read the words. From his seat, the only clear line of sight he had was of Chuck's face. He had a look of satisfaction as the young woman's tongue danced around the shell of his ear. Chuck rested his hand at the back of her head. His lips parted at the sensations that the experienced girl was providing.

He looked up at the people in the bar, and wondered when someone would clear his throat to call the attention of the obviously underage couple who were publicly assaulting each other. When the young woman's started kissing along the lines of his jaw, Chuck's hands tightened around her waist.

Chuck's lips met hers and Dan frowned. At that exact moment, Chuck's gaze met his. Chuck disentangled himself from the young woman and strode towards Dan with a scowl.

"Don't tell me I have to get a restraining order against you," he said coldly.

Dan steeled himself for an attack, but Chuck reached for his notebook instead. Dan made a grab for it, but Chuck deflected. "Don't tear it," were the first words out of his mouth, and he kicked himself. If anything, Chuck would destroy it faster because that's what Dan asked him not to do. He waited with bated breath as Chuck turned a page and read. To his surprise, Chuck tossed the notebook back to him.

"I just didn't want you writing about my life. At least you've gone back to obsessing about my stepsister." Chuck turned to walk back to his table, then threw an advice back at him, "If you've found that you're prolific in this place, order a beer or something, and act like a patron."

Instead of sitting back down, Chuck whispered into the girl's ear and she stood up to leave with him. Dan looked down at the notebook, surprised at Chuck's comments. He had not written about Serena in weeks. He checked what Chuck must have read.

It was his description of the cab ride, of the New York City lights dancing on her face as she looked out the window.

'When the lights reflected against her skin, you could see the whole world on her face,' it started.

Chuck must have already been drunk, because Serena was nowhere on the page.

'Her eyes were faraway, in some perfect world that was not here. He ached to reach for her chin just so he would turn those eyes on him and he could drown, down, spiraling and bending and twisting, because to drown in them would have to be the happiest death.

But he was not perfection, and those eyes only deserved to look at perfection. He stayed in the corner and watched her that entire night, wondering when the world would stop to notice that she was waiting too.'

Dan read the lines over and over, remembering how feverishly he had scribbled that while at the back of the cab. This was not right. It was damn near impossible for this to be right. Stream of consciousness being the best modern fic tool there was, he could not believe that this was his product. He stood up from the table and ran outside, then flagged another cab. This was definitely one of the most expensive nights in his life when it came to transportation.

He gave Blair's address to the driver, then looked out the window. Vaguely, he noticed the redhead in the black dress making her way back into the bar. He made a quick note in his head to include that small detail in Charlie Trout's story. He hoped he would remember it. Now, his hand was too unsteady to write it down in his notebook.

After having dropped Blair off only a couple of hours before, he had no trouble getting in and the doorman merely nodded him through. Dan made his way up to the penthouse. The elevator doors opened to a silent room. He looked around for the maid.

He felt like a thief, making his way up the stairs of an Upper East Side penthouse. Dan walked towards her room. She was awake. He could see the light from the bottom of the bedroom door. Dan poised his hand for a knock. He took a deep breath, then rapped on the door.

"Just bring it inside, Dorota!" he heard her voice call out from inside.

Dan turned the knob, and the door opened. He stood right outside her bedroom. A few feet across from him, on the other side of the bed, stood Chuck Bass tucking his shirt into his pants. Dan did not move, stayed silent as he met Chuck's stare.

"Hey what is it?" Blair stepped out of the bathroom wearing her nightgown. She gasped when she saw Dan standing right outside her door. "Humphrey!" Silently, Chuck bent to pick up her dark green bedrobe and handed it to her. Blair reached for it frantically and shrugged it on. She fumbled with the slippery belt and tried to tie it. "What are doing here?" The belt slid loose from her clumsy fingers.

Dan's attention turned to the unraveling robe.

"Turn around, Brooklyn," came Chuck's deep, curt command. Dan turned his head, and caught sight of Chuck firmly tying the robe from the periphery of his vision.

"I—I didn't know you two were back together," Dan managed to choke out.

Chuck opened his mouth, but Blair cut him off and insisted, "We're not."

Dorota arrived with a tray of sandwiches and two glasses of juice. "Mr Humphrey, I didn't know you were here." She turned to Blair. "Sorry, Ms Blair."

Blair waved off the apology. "Nonsense. He wasn't expected, Dorota." Then she turned to Dan. "But Dorota can make you some if you're staying."

Dan watched as the maid walked into the bedroom and placed the tray on Blair's dresser. So Chuck Bass was expected, then. He noticed down Chuck's hand rose to rest on her upper arm. "You haven't answered Blair's question. Why are you here?"

Dan set his jaw as he wrote the plot out in his head. "I came here to check on Blair. She didn't seem okay during the cab ride back here."

Chuck's eyes narrowed at the implication, remembering the snippet of the story he had read from earlier that night. He had thrown down the gauntlet.

Flustered at the revelation, Blair hurried to the dresser and picked up her glass of juice. "That's very sweet of you, Dan, but as you can see, I'm fine."

"I can't see that." He looked up at Chuck, then back at Blair. "I'll see you tomorrow for the essay review."

Blair nodded. "Let's just meet here, okay? It's closer to school. And the cab ride from Brooklyn was kind of long. It's going to be too expensive for you to keep having to take me home."

Chuck grabbed a sandwich and glared at Dan. "You shouldn't be taking a cab at all," he said smoothly, pointing out the obvious advantage he had over Dan. "I'll take you in the limo."

"Oh please," Blair murmured. "I've learned not to expect anything, Chuck, or else I'd end up waiting outside in Brooklyn for someone who never intended to come."

Chuck shook his head, then grabbed his jacket. "I'll see you at school," he told Blair, then walked out of the room, bumping into Dan.

"Careful, Charlie," Dan whispered. "Bump me too hard and I might spew out a story." He patted Chuck's shirt. "Red lipstick like that stains like hell. Make sure you get that shirt dry cleaned."

Chuck grabbed the front of Dan's shirt. "You be careful, Humphrey. Low hanging fruit is best for your type. Reach for an apple too high up the tree and you'll only end up breaking your neck," he warned.

tbc


	5. Chapter 5

Part 5

Despite the unflattering view that he had of Gossip Girl, Dan had to admit a small thrill of excitement when a collecting chirping noise filled the quad. He looked around him as just about everyone reached for their phones and checked their messages. Today was the day, if his new "publisher" was to be believed. Since he was likely staying in New York anyway, Dan made enough effort to care about the reaction on this anonymous work. After all, when his classmates were bankers, architects, lawyers, accountants and designers, they would be his audience. By that time, they were past the shallow issues of their high school and were more in tune to the real world.

One could only hope, that is.

**Hello, Upper Eastsiders. Here's your one and only Gossip Girl. Just when you thought we already knew the cast of this fantastic soap opera, one step up and decides to shock us all. From the inner circle itself, or so he claims, an aspiring storyteller takes the camera and zooms in closer. Because this is a gossip blog and not a fiction press, I'm hotlinking you to the newest and most sensational series to come straight into your phones—a fiction loosely based on the young, the prominent, and the relevant.**

**Follow the jump for the first installment…**

Dan felt rather than saw Chuck Bass rest his gaze on the back of his head. He did not dare turn around, because to do so would be to admit commission of the deed. Of course, once Chuck read the story, he would figure it out anyway.

'She came from privilege, and she breathed in air that, bottled, would be worth more than his life. Really, he thought, there should not have been shock or disappointment he opened the door and found her in the same old place, that sodden, dank reality she insisted on occupying ever since Charlie first swore that he would make it up to her.

Even though he killed her every time they were together, and he killed her every time they were apart.

Grace, in his eyes, was the North Star, and if she were the only star you saw for miles, you'd know you're safely on your way home.

And it shattered him to see someone who had destroyed her twice still able to enjoy her warmth. He stumbled out of her home and found himself walking blindly in the streets.

It was dark, and he was not from around there. She lived in the clouds and he inhabited a mountain peak that barely touched the sky. Sometimes, the zenith of his mountain kissed the horizon. More often, he could only sit at the cliff and watch the skies shift, the clouds morph into wonderful, familiar shapes. One time, he even managed to catch a falling star, only to find out it was a comet meant to leave a blazing trail in the night sky.'

Dan wondered if Serena would recognize the reference to her. Of course, when he looked up towards Serena and her posse, she was laughing with them and talking animatedly—about the story, he hoped, since she was clutching her phone—without any sign that she saw through the thinly veiled metaphor.

'Dave leafed through the pages of his assignment, his eyes scanning through the pages but his brain processing no words. He had been sitting in his bedroom for the last three hours since he had backed out of her house. He glanced at the window and saw the clear night, and the host of stars twinkling at him. He shrugged and returned to the novel. Four chapters more to go, and he could start on his paper.

He rifled back to the point that he last remembered, and revised his estimate. Nine chapters more to read before he could start on his paper.

Four hours to go before he needed to hop into the shower and get ready for school. Dave tossed the book aside and combed his fingers through his hair, then lay back on the bed, facing the window, looking out into the sky.

The stars had always been there, so beautiful and unassuming as they winked down at the world. As a child, he had thought those stars were little pieces of jewelry hanging from invisible clouds. And then his father had taken him to the thrift book store, and Dave had found a children's encyclopedia and curled into the corner. That was the day he found out that there were giant pulsing masses of gas and flame, and that they could explode into supernova.

He never thought they were merely pretty little things from then on.

The doorbell ringing jarred him from his stupor. Dave walked to the door and peered through the hole. Puzzled at the sight, he quickly fumbled to open the door.

"I'm sorry," she breathed once the door was no longer a barricade.

"For what?" was his wry reply. And then his arms were full of her, so warm and fragrant and stunning. And he didn't even get burned. "Gracie," he mumbled against her lips even as his arms tightened around her, afraid if his hold was loose, that she would vanish like the dream this was.'

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder. Dan turned around and saw Chuck's face for a split second before the latter slammed a fist into his nose. Dan fell out of the bench and onto the ground. Pain exploded in his face, and Dan clutched his hands to his nose. With a loud groan, he opened his eyes to see Chuck Bass standing over him, breathing harshly. "What the hell!" Dan cried out. Chuck bared his teeth and grabbed Dan's shirt. The look on his face told it all. Whether it was an assault from Dan or one from Nate, Chuck had always been at the receiving end and usually didn't throw back a punch of his own, since he considered it barbaric and far below him to get into fistfights.

"You kissed her," Chuck spat into his face.

"No!" Dan exclaimed. His eyes flickered up. Around them, students started forming a circle, eager to see the brawl. "Chuck, let me up." Chuck growled. "You honestly think this won't make Gossip Girl," he said in a low voice, "and no one will connect the dots?"

With a grunt of displeasure, Chuck straightened and reached out a hand to Dan. Dan looked up at the proffered hand in suspicion, then reached for it. The moment he was up, he waved away the people around them. "That's it, people. Go about your business!" he said. He reached up a hand to his nose and winced when it came up wet with blood.

"Did you sleep with her?" Chuck asked, his gaze cast down to the ground.

Dan shook his head. "You think I'd do that after what I saw?"

Chuck smirked, then with a trace of sarcasm, replied, "I'm a fan of your work. I've read your little drabble too many times to say no."

Dan chuckled. "Then you might wanna try reading through the entire thing before leaping to conclusion." He picked up the discarded phone that Chuck probably tossed in his fit of rage. He handed it back to Chuck with a whistle, because devices like it didn't come cheap enough to throw to the cement quad.

He turned around to leave Chuck to read the rest of the material. On his way back to the building, his eyes met Serena's. The blonde was now frowning, curious about the exchange between him and her stepbrother, but too prideful to ask. Dan continued walking. He received a text message. He checked his phone and saw the private note from Gossip Girl.

'_Congratulations! Dave in Black and White was a hit. Your visitors almost crashed my website.'_

'_Thanks. Sorry for the sudden turn. Felt like I had to establish the point of view first.'_

'No problem, Dave.' Dan grinned reading the name she used. Obviously, a popular blogger got where she was by using her brains, and Gossip Girl easily picked up on the nuances. _'I must admit to a certain disappointment to find out you weren't giving me Charlie and Gracie yet, but this makes me more curious about the endgame. I'm still trying to figure out who they are. Maybe when I figure out who Dave is?'_

'_Good luck on that. I'm still trying to figure out who Dave is.'_

Dan slid the phone into his back pocket. He checked his watch and saw that it was still fifteen minutes before his AP English class. To a lot of people, coming to class this early meant the end of your social life, but Dan didn't have one to ruin anyway so he pushed the door open.

And there she was, her legs primly pressed together under her knee length navy blue skirt, seated on the second row, engrossed in her book as she bit her fingernails. Dan cleared his throat. Blair looked up in surprise, afraid of being discovered so early inside her next class. When she saw him, she broke into a smile.

"Humphrey," she greeted. "Mrs Mayfield is out sick, and we were told we'll have a coed session today instead. You think whoever's desk this is would mind?"

She pushed her brown hair back over her shoulders. He swallowed, then shook his head. "He'll probably worship that seat by the time you leave."

She smiled at his attempt at humor, then checked her watch. "Aren't you afraid of being teased about being a nerd?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "Aren't you?" Dan walked over to his seat at the back of the class.

With a small smile, she shook her head. "Everyone knows I take my classes seriously. And no one's made a fuss about it yet."

"Of course. No one gives Blair Waldorf a hard time," he said, grinning. Dan settled into his chair and dumped his messenger bag to the side. He picked up his book and turned to the page they were supposed to discuss. Mindful of the visitor, he asked, "You know what the reading assignment is?"

Blair glanced back at Dan. "Come live with me and be my love," she said softly.

"Uhh-I'm—uhh, sorry?" Dan stammered.

Blair furrowed her eyebrows, then stifled a laugh. "What's wrong with you, Humphrey?" He opened his mouth, but no reply came out. "We're reviewing Christopher Marlowe, right? Passionate Shepherd to His Love?" Blair laughed when Dan's face did not change. She stood up and walked over to Dan, then turned his book to the right page. Blair pointed to the line. "Come live with me and be my love, and we will all the pleasures prove that valleys, hills, groves and fields, woods or steepy mountain yields."

"Oh," Dan managed, breathing in deeply, his senses assailed by her fragrance as she leaned over him, "right." Strawberries, he thought. He had read the poem, as well as the reply to it, as assigned by the teacher. He had to snap out of this temporary muteness, because if Blair Waldorf respected anything in her life, it was intelligence. Or cunning, in Chuck Bass' case.

Blair settled on the seat beside him. "Did you forget?" she asked quietly, matter of factly. "If you did, I can help you," she offered.

Dan turned to her, intrigued. "You can?" he repeated, conveniently omitting that he had even been able to memorize the two poetry assignments.

"Of course. You and I aren't in competition for valedictorian," she pointed out. "I'll get my stuff."

Dan watched after her as she walked back to the second row seat and picked up her book and bag. With a smile, he waited for her to settle into the seat next to him. His seatmate was going to be a bit miffed that Blair Waldorf had basically taken over, but he would survive. Dan would buy him lunch if he didn't make a fuss over the situation.

'Dave was jarred awake by the doorbell. He opened his eyes and saw the star-studded sky, and concluded that he had fallen asleep as he lay in bed gazing up high. He blinked the sleep away, and flushed when he remembered his dream.

He closed his eyes again, trying to recapture the sensation of having Gracie in his arms, smelling like vanilla and a thousand bottled dreams.

The bell rang again. With a groan, Dave padded out of the room and to the door. He pulled it open and saw his sister grinning up at him with a bag of takeout.

"Sorry I'm late!" she said, chipper. "I got food though."

Dave turned his back on her and returned to his room, falling into bed, clutching his pillow and desperately hoping to recapture the dream.'

Dan felt the vibration coming from his ass. He quickly checked the message.

'_Read the thing. I believe you now.'_

Dan glanced at Blair, who was now looking through the reply poem. He wanted to recite it to her, just to see if he could impress her, then thought against it. If she found out he was more than capable with the assignment, she would move back to the seat in front, and Dan didn't want that. He texted back, _'How?'_

The reply was more painful than the punch he received earlier. _'It's actually strawberries.'_ Dan knew that now. _'Lavender at night.'_

tbc


	6. Chapter 6

If you're curious about the poems discussed in their class, google Christopher Marlowe's Passionate Shepherd to His Love and Walter Raleigh's The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd.

Part 6

"It's obvious," Dan replied to the teacher's question. "This is what love is supposed to be like. Marlowe was a courtier during the Elizabethan reign. He understood the meaning of love, and offering all that he had, no matter how humble, suited his interpretation of love."

"Then it's stupid," drawled one of the Constance girls in the class. "He's too poor to understand."

Dan's eyebrows rose and he turned to the blonde in the front row. "Excuse me? Are you saying that poverty robs someone of understanding, because I would say that experiencing hardship gives someone better understanding of love."

"You talk about love as if it's this sacred thing," Jenna—he recognized her now—said.

"Isn't it though?" he responded.

The teacher turned his attention to Blair, who had apparently been raising a hand. "Ms Waldorf."

Dan rested back in his chair in satisfaction. Once Blair jumped into the discussion, he would have some support. This was the girl who dreamed Audrey Hepburn movies, and desperately hoped to be swept away by her Prince. "I agree with some of Jenna's points." Dan's heart fell a little. "Love isn't this sacred, all consuming thing. People are so scared of it because, like Mr Humphrey here, they think it's sacred and sublime." Blair turned to Dan with a pointed look. "Sometimes love is just love, and we shouldn't put it up on a pedestal that people get terrified of it."

"And what's your take on Marlowe's ideals then?" Mrs Mayfair prompted.

Blair shrugged. "His take is wonderful and all. He wrote this when he was young, right? I tend to lean towards Raleigh's response."

Dan could not help himself, and without raising his hand to be recognized, he blurted out, "When the Nymph completely trashes the shepherd point by point?"

"It was practical," Blair pointed out. "She made very good, very well thought out arguments."

"It was completely unromantic. Frankly, I'm surprised to hear this coming from you," Dan blubbered.

The boys started snickering. Dan could see the shock in Blair's face. The girls in the classroom grinned snidely and started whispering. "I'm sorry, Humphrey." She gave a tight smile. "Did you mistakenly think we're friends?"

He immediately regretted the statement upon seeing the shuttered expression on her face. Blair turned to face the teacher. Fortunately, the bell rang, and for the first time Dan was elated by the end of his Literature class. The students milled out. Having transferred to the back before the class started, Blair was among the last to leave. She unhurriedly stacked her things on the desk.

The apology was caught in his throat. Dan stepped forward and opened his mouth, and he was cut off by a call of "Waldorf!" He looked up and saw Chuck squeeze through the AP students, entering the room without waiting for everyone to exit. Chuck brushed his clothes, as if doing so would straight whatever crease or crumple they earned for his impatience.

"Hey," she greeted back easily.

"A little birdie told me your Lit was right in my building. I've been starving for the sight of you," was his compliment, delivered smoothly, easily, as if the words were dunk in oil.

Dan pretended to gather his books as he closely listened.

"You could have been in this class if you only took your classes more seriously," she said lightly, obviously conscious of the other person in the room.

Dan wondered if it was really the first time that Chuck looked and noticed him in the room, or if Blair had made a move that brought Chuck's attention to him. There was no reason for Chuck Bass to keep tabs on Dan's class schedule anyway, so Dan accepted the surprise in his greeting. "Didn't notice you there, Humphrey."

"Noticed you from the first angry exclamation of the first student you pushed to get in here," Dan replied wryly.

Chuck gave him one nod, then turned back to Blair. Despite his best effort, Dan did not hear the next words that Chuck whispered into her ear. He was, though, in full view of the way her breath hitched in her throat, the way that her lips slightly parted, and her eyes fluttered. Chuck straightened, and Blair took a deep breath. "Say yes," he prompted.

"Sure," she managed.

After Chuck left the room, Blair reached for her things with unsteady hands. Her pencil rolled down the floor. They reached for it simultaneously, and their heads bumped together. Dan rose quickly to apologize, and Blair remained on the floor, kneeling.

"Hey did I hurt you?"

She shook her head. Dan looked down in confusion, until a dark circle appeared on her navy blue skirt. He wondered about it, and then another appeared, and another, then another. He deflated at the realization of what caused the pattern. "Then why are you crying?" he asked. Dan knelt down on the floor across from her.

"Nothing. It's got nothing to do with you. Just leave me alone."

He handed her a handkerchief. She shook her head. "There's tissue in my purse. I'm not using your handkerchief!"

Dan broke into a smile and reached for the pack of tissues. He handed it to Blair. "I'm not leaving a room to leave a crying girl inside, no matter how uncomfortable it makes me feel."

"We're not friends, Humphrey," was her sharp retort.

"I heard," he said. "It was mentioned in class."

Blair sniffled and dabbed carefully under her eyes. She looked up at him. "How do I look?"

Her eyes were still moist, but he knew just what to say. "Like nothing happened."

She smiled, pleased. "Whoever said 300 was too much for mascara was insane. This is why you shouldn't be using discounted mascara."

"I hadn't been planning on it," Dan told her. She giggled lightly at the joke, and being late for his next class was a small price to pay for the sound. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"

This time, her voice was softer, more modulated. "We're not friends."

He nodded. Dan watched as Blair walked out of the classroom. Next class was trigonometry, and it wasn't a class he particularly enjoyed. He slowly sank into the chair that Blair had so recently vacated, then pulled out his notebook computer.

'Always, it was Charlie who brought her to the brink. Dave found her sitting alone at the fountain with her eyes held up to the sun and her eyes closed. He walked towards her and on the way felt the raindrops on his skin. She did not stir from her position. Her cheeks shone with water now, and Dave drew closer and closer to her.

He cupped her cheek with his hand. She opened them, and the dark brown depths shimmered. They were not out of happiness or surprise. "What did he do, Gracie?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. You always think the worst of him."

"He makes you cry."

"This?" Gracie gestured to her face. "This is rain." Dave sat down beside her and rested his arm across her shoulders. He pulled her to him, and she leaned her head on his shoulder. "It always rains," she whispered, despite the fact that it was the first shower the entire year.

"He doesn't deserve you, Gracie."

"I know," came the whispered reply. "And I don't deserve him."

"Then why do you two insist?"

She straightened, and the warmth was gone. Gracie met his eyes and cupped the sides of his face. "Because we're crazy."

And the way she said it plainly broke his heart. Dave ached to hold her. Instead, he asked, "Do you love him?"

"I don't love him as much as he doesn't love me."

And it was sealed.

"I want to tell you story," Dave narrated, "about a king who loved his wife beyond all reason, and wanted to have a son. One day, God granted their wish and gave them a son, but in return, the queen had to die, and the king could only blame one person—"

"Dave, I'm not a kid."

"This is not a fairy tale," he said, his voice deep, his expression sober.

"Is this a love story?" Gracie asked, eager to know and expecting it was. Dave knew she adored love stories.

"It depends on you." He was silent for a time, and then he asked, "So what's it going to be."

"A love story," she replied decisively.

"Alright," Dave said, "anything for you." He turned in his seat and folded his legs under him. He glanced at the water and saw a single coin in the fountain. "Is that yours?" She smiled, but was silent. He shook his head. "I'll continue the story."

"What's the name of the Prince?" came her excited question.

"For the purpose of this story," Dave said carefully, "let's call him Charles."

"Prince Charles?" she snorted.

Dave drank in the vision of Gracie sitting in front of him. She was beautiful in her sadness, and even more beautiful when she forgot for a second about her pain, even more astounding when he knew that it was because of him that for now, Gracie stopped crying. Once the story was done, she would know, and it would be finished.

"Charles doesn't know how to fall in love, until someone forces him into it," he started.

"A princess?" she prompted with a smile.

"Of course. Not just any princess. The most beautiful princess in the world. A princess exactly like you," he said with a sad smile.'

Dan continued writing past the bell. When he checked his watch, he realized that he had missed two full classes, and it was as good as cutting. He read through the story. The cursor hovered above the send button. He had laid it all out, and he was nervous. Within thirty minutes, a quarter of the population would know the characters and ten minutes after that, they would have educated the rest of the campus.

The items were obvious now, starkly so. Even his own identity, after his blunder during Lit class, would be easy to break.

"Why the hell are you doing this, Humphrey?" he asked himself about this suicide mission. And then he remembered Blair today, crying after a moment with Chuck.

He closed his eyes and clicked.

tbc


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Here's the last chapter of Charlie and Gracie. The whole fic is in Dan's POV, as you may have noticed by now. Thus, I believe this is the best way to wrap it up. Thank you for your support. I hope this doesn't disappoint.

Part 7

Before Dan Humphrey soared into new heights in his writing career, he reluctantly clawed through the much that shrouded his young adulthood. From being the one in the sidelines, he had, with a brief and passionate affair with a golden princess, risen to the top where every move was observed, every victory lauded and every stumble ridiculed. It had been a life he had detested if only for the how it ended. Once the golden princess had left him, he had once more been delegated to the sidelines from where he discovered his Dulcinea.

The basic truth that everyone who started out in the writing world found out, that juicy secret that told of writers that were devastated creatures, torn and shredded inside, unkempt and blasé outside, seemed silly now. For years, Dan struggled to find a place for his voice in the New York Times, the New England Journal or even Reader's Digest. It was not until Dan remembered that one last portion of his story that he realized his voice did not need the stamp of approval by literary critics. His voice was meant to be consumed by the popular masses. And he had the voice and the experience for it. And so he started writing for tv.

He grabbed his computer and settled back in the expensive leather sofa. With the notebook computer on his lap, Dan surfed to the one memorable website where it all began and ended.

"Honey," he called out after hearing the low pleasant noises coming from the kitchen. "Guests are almost here."

It had been a struggle to overcome the small voice in his head that cautioned him against becoming involved with her. She was part of it all—the pomp, the money, the privilege. And it was at the tailend of his first tell-all of the lives and loves of two of Manhattan's elite that he had become immersed in her life. Still, despite the obvious disparity of their lives, he shared her passions and he understood her motivations more than the thousands who mistakenly thought, after reading her so for long, they knew her.

They were characters in a novel, all of them. He was the boy told the story. And as the boy, he would latch on to an anchor. Luckily enough, it was easy to set his eyes on a heroine.

Dan went to the archives and clicked the link to the last part of Charlie and Gracie, his wildly successful anonymous fiction.

'He was drowning in her eyes for most of the story, and Dave allowed himself that small death. Right that moment, in front of him, she was all his to watch, to memorize, to imbibe. Tomorrow, if all went well, he would likely not see Gracie so much, and he wished to heaven that this was not a mistake.

This was bound to physically hurt, he realized. He had shared with Gracie the one secret he had sworn not to tell.

Like the villains in many fairy tales, Charlie had snuck up to them inconspicuously. Dave realized this when her eyes left his and he was left cold and wanting. He turned his head and saw Charlie standing on the other side of the fountain, watching them. Idly he realized that he had been holding Gracie's hand. Thought reluctantly, he loosened his fingers and placed her hand on her lap.

Charlie was always slow to move, as if each slow stride was meant to emphasize something intangible. And despite the ridiculousness of the concept, the slow walk unsettled Dave. Charlie stopped in front of Gracie and told her, "I'd like a word with you."

Dave moved to stand, but Gracie quickly reached out a hand to stop him. "Tell me," she said.

Charlie's eyes flit to where Dave sat. And then, as if dismissing his presence there, Charlie turned his gaze back on Gracie. "This isn't easy."

"I never said it was," was her breathless reply.

"I can't say it, but I can always show you."

"That's not enough anymore." She shook her head, to Dave's surprise. "I deserve better."

Charlie tried to control his reaction. Dave could see it clearly in the way the other young man's nostrils flared, and the way that he seemed to fold in. Gracie stood up and started to walk away.

"I'll say it," Charlie blurted out. Gracie stopped in her tracks, but did not turn around. Dave felt like an unwelcome audience all of a sudden. "If that's all you want," he capitulated.

Dave saw her shoulders slump, and it came together in his head, how it seemed so obvious to everyone who bothered to look. He was certain it was obvious to them too. Gracie had always looked forlorn, and Charlie had always seemed to be right there, always seemed to be on guard, always seemed to need to tell her something that she never heard. Dave watched her visibly pull herself together and walk away.

He murmured an excuse and ran after her. "Gracie!" he called to her. "Gracie!" he repeated.

"Not now, Dave," she had snapped at him.

He caught up to her just outside the gates. Dave reached for her elbow to stop her. She did, but kept her eyes cast away. "The fairy tale wasn't just a story."

"You said it wasn't a fairy tale," she returned stubbornly.

Dave sighed, then laid an arm across her shoulders. "Well it's obviously not. It didn't have a happy ending."

Gracie continued walking, and he picked up his pace to keep up with her. She stopped, and he almost stumbled. Gracie turned to Dave and he caught his breath at the look in her eyes. "I wanted it to be a love story," she confessed.

He stared deep into her liquid brown eyes. Dave cleared his throat. "Question," he said. "What he was trying to say, what you wanted him to say… have you said them?" Her eyes fluttered closed. "You haven't." She nodded. "He's too scared to say them without knowing if you will."

"This isn't a game," she finally said when she opened her eyes.

Dave took a deep breath, gathered his courage, because this might end up being his only chance. "What if I told you I'm brave enough to say them, even without getting the same in return?"

"Dave—" she started.

"I love you," he finished.'

The doorbell jingled a merry, feminine tune. Dan rolled his eyes, because he had asked his girlfriend repeatedly to let him change the music of the doorbell. Instead, she had been stubborn and playful in thinking of ways to keep the bell. By now, Dan did not mind the familiar sound, but it had become a habit to complain and he enjoyed making her think of ways to change his mind.

She had adorable persuasive skills.

He smiled at the nine hundred comments that the story received on Gossip Girl. Everyone rooted for him—Dave, he meant. It seemed to be such a celebration to have the best friend, the admirer, the one who had always been there for the heroine, win her in the end. Dan smiled at the memory of Blair's face when she finally read through the website while they were writing their application essays. She had stared at him awestruck, and it had been the first time that she had tried and failed to choke out a response.

Dan placed the laptop down and walked towards the door. He pulled it open to find the man standing outside.

Chuck Bass stepped into the apartment, unbuttoned his coat and handed it to Dan. Dan's eyebrows rose, but he received the coat anyway and hung it up on the coat rack. "So the rack is right here," Dan managed. "Just an FYI. Sorry I never told you the first dozen times you've been over."

Chuck turned an amused gaze at Dan. When Dan's girlfriend stepped out of the kitchen, Chuck's face broke into a genuine smile, which still surprised Dan even now. There had been a time when Chuck hated her with a fervor unmatched by any legendary hatred.

"Dan," admonished the woman who stepped out of the kitchen with a plate of what appeared like tomato-baked chicken, "be nice. Without Chuck, you would have never had a chance with me."

"The wife will be in a couple of minutes."

"Making a call?"

"Of course," Chuck drawled. "If she calls more than she already does, I swear that the babysitter is going to quit."

Right that moment, the door opened and in walked Blair clutching a phone to her ear. Dan walked over quickly and helped her out of her coat. Blair waved at Dan's girlfriend. She said a quick goodbye to the person on the other line and hung up.

"Gracie," Dan greeted her, causing Blair to giggle and Chuck's gaze to darken.

Blair walked over to Dan's girlfriend and kissed her cheek. "Belle," she greeted the blonde.

"Hello Upper Eastsider," the other woman returned.

Chuck walked over to his wife and pulled a chair out for her. He rested his hand on her shoulder, and she closed her hand over it and squeezed. "She's already asleep," Blair told him. Chuck nodded and placed a kiss on her temple.

When they had all settled around the dinner table, Belle raised her glass of wine and said, "Here's to good friends, and a hundred love stories."

Blair smiled and raised her glass as well. "And to classmates who make up ridiculous fiction that sends stubborn children running back to me in fear." Dan cleared his throat. "It was very sweet and very lovely, Dan. Thank you."

Dan blushed at the easy and kind reference to his high school crush. "And to angry guys who tried their hardest not to punch me out after the end of my story." He nodded towards Chuck. "He succeeded for three hours before he finally had to find me and punch me out on Blair's bedroom floor."

Chuck smirked and raised his glass as well. "And to sneaky little bastards who tried to steal my girl through something as absurd as a love story on Gossip Girl's website." Chuck raised his brows at Dan. "You should've known better, man."

Belle pushed her blonde hair back behind her ear. "One last!" She looked across the table at Dan, who nodded. "And here's to Charlie and Gracie, who made it possible for the writer and the publisher to get together and fall in love long enough for serious commitment, and who we're asking to be maid of honor and usher," she finished excitedly.

"Usher."

Belle made a face. "You didn't really think he'd make you best man, did you?"

Blair squealed and jumped out of her seat, then gave Belle a hug. She turned to Dan and hugged him as well. "Happy?"

Dan grinned. "Very. But she's a handful."

Blair laughed. "I can't believe you'd end up marrying Gossip Girl!"

Dan laughed and shook his head. His gaze moved to Chuck, who was now congratulating his fiancé. "You happy now?"

"What do you think?" she parried, smiling back at him.

And for all the long sublime moments that he had reached while waxing poetic about drowning in Blair Waldorf's lonely eyes, he had to admit—happiness becomes her.

"Really, Dan, I'm so happy for you. You were the one who freaked both of us out with your online love confession, so I want you to have what I have."

Dan chuckled. "Great. There's nothing better than knowing that my humbling admission got the two of you together."

"It all worked out in the end." She took his hand and squeezed. "Chuck and I found out this afternoon," she shared. "We're going to have another baby."

"Sasha just turned one!" he blurted out.

Blair swatted him on the chest. "We're young, active people."

"I don't want to hear it!" Dan exclaimed.

"Wait," Blair laughed. "There's something else." Chuck and Belle walked towards them to find out what the commotion was. "If it's a boy, I want to name him Dave, in honor of our Cupid."

"Hell no," was the cool, quiet response she received from her husband. Blair smiled at him and held onto his arm. "No, Waldorf!"

Chuck's reaction satisfied Dan, and he hopped on board. The four settled back down at the dinner table, sharing stories broken by moments of Chuck exclaiming, "I said no, Blair…"

"David Bass has a good ring to it," Dan piled on.

Chuck exerted his best effort to turn Blair's attention somewhere else than to naming their unborn, newly conceived baby after the boy who had, in high school, suckerpunched him, wrote a story about kissing his wife, and saying I love you before Chuck found the guts to.

"Belle," Chuck started, "you never told us how Humphrey moved from being an anonymous contributor to dating the mysterious and powerful Gossip Girl."

Belle smiled, turned a teasing look at Dan, and replied, "That's another story, for another writer, for another day."

fin


End file.
